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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690201">Mastering History</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorialDiamond/pseuds/ZorialDiamond'>ZorialDiamond</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Runescape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Flashbacks, Gen, Slice of Life, Wholesome, archaeology fun, backstory catchup, throwing Silvy a bone 2020, we're breaking free lads</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:00:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25690201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZorialDiamond/pseuds/ZorialDiamond</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some for whom the blessed mundanity of a workday is more blessed indeed. The former wight of Sliske Silvarius Ivanov is one of them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Sands of Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Finally, a long day's work done."</p><p>Silvarius pushed open the fortress doors of Kharid-et, shaking off the slight grain of eroded sandstone, withdrew to the nearby tent, wincing somewhat at the bright desert sunlight. Even though there wasn't too much direct sunlight inside the site itself and neither breathing nor sweating was a concern for his undead form, there was a certain stuffiness about his robelike archaeologist's garb that made removing the gloves, hat, and other acoutrements very satisfying at the end of a workday.</p><p>The not inconsiderable mound of ancient gravel would need to be sifted, and the various rings, scrolls, and ceremonial implements' restoration would be first thing of the next morning. Even without a need of sleep, the dead did still need their rest.</p><p>"Another full day of work, Associate?" The odd tone, the tip of a much more muted trillby than his own, and a shock of paradoxically kempt and unkempt ginger hair. He was unsure why the site manager, the somewhat famed Dr. Nabanik, took such a curious interest in him when most would balk, but he was in no position to complain.</p><p>"Indeed, doctor," he replied, carefully wrapping, tagging, and storing the damaged specimens in his own site locker. "The what I believe to be spell scrolls are some of the most challenging to excavate without ripping the vellum...or accidentally triggering some version of their effects."</p><p>The doctor let out a bit of an amused chuckle. "This is why it helps to have someone on staff who has practical experience with the ancient elements. You certainly proved that much experimenting with the anchors..."</p><p>The wight sighed, and placed his now uncovered, oddly clawlike shadowy hand over his face. "I still can't believe it took my intern team finding batteries for the pylons on site for me to realize there was an easier way...Curse my overthinking..."</p><p>Seeing his name there in parchment, Silvarius Ivanov, was such a mundane thing. But, there was a lot of paperwork involved getting what the green kingdoms would (admittedly rightfully) consider getting a creature of darkness onto the Archaeology Guild's payroll, and he wasn't about to make them regret the effort.</p><p>"I wouldn't worry too much about it, no," Nabanik replied, twirling a pen mattock around his fingers. "Sometimes it takes an additional set of eyes to see the obvious. "And speaking of your intern team..."</p><p>"Hm?" The associate looked up to see two familiar faces; a surprisingly gruff looking younger man in relatively muted dust covered uniform, attire, and a younger woman with her own shock of bright pink pigtails and purple clothes.</p><p>"Ah, Allison, Brian, you're done for the day as well?" He replied, getting up from his seat. "How did it go?"</p><p>"Pretty well, all things considered," Brian replied. "Allison kept trying to fake me out about seeing some kind of a ghost, but we did find some interesting effigies and weaponry," he replied, carefully lowering his own specimens onto the table.</p><p>"Make sure you properly tag those and store them in your locker for restoration tomorrow," Silvarius replied, muttering as he continued to pack his own personal effects.</p><p>"There WAS a ghost, though, you just didn't see it because you weren't looking at the right spot!" Allison insisted.</p><p>"I wouldn't dismiss that possibility so easily," Nabanik observed, flipping his trillby around. "There is plenty of evidence from our findings at the main Senntisten digsite that there may be some lingering necromantic effects from the magic used in the Empire."</p><p>"Yes...I know that all too well. He's right, you should keep an eye out." Silvarius echoed, his pack now nearly in order and slung over his back.</p><p>"You're heading off already? But we've hardly hung out today..." The young woman looked down at her feet, before glancing up awkwardly.</p><p>"Hmm...Well...Um." Silvarius paused, slowly pocketing his enchanted archaeological log.</p><p>"Did you need me for something?"</p><p>"Not anything with work, but...hey, you seem like a kinda lonely and distant guy...do you got any friends?" She inquired, squinting at the wight.</p><p>"Some, though not many, and not many I see often, admittedly," He replied, taking a seat again.</p><p>"...She brought some of your favorite tea blend in her pack today," Brian chimed in, somewhat more bluntly.</p><p>"...Fellstalk and tarromin?" he exclaimed, shadow stained eyes somewhat wide.</p><p>"Yeah! I picked up some from a shop in east Varrock, it's a fresh import!" She nearly stuffed the teabags in his face, while Brian silently set up a small fire and kettle nearby the camp, in the shade of several palms. "Oh, and you can have some too if you want, Mr. Site Manager!"</p><p>"I'll have to pass, I have other things to attend to," Nabanik replied, polite if a bit curt.</p><p>Silvarius couldn't help but smile. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to stay a bit longer."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Infernal Chains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Silvarius, in cracking the mysteries of what the Infernal Source hides, finds reminders of his past and hope for his present. (Spoilers for the Dagon Bye Archaeology mystery)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tinkling chains. Flowing lava. Hexagonal pillars of natural stone. The echoes of the damned and worse-than-damned, at least if the records of the Lodge’s founder were any indication. No, definitely worse than damned. Deep beneath the earth, surrounded by fiendish creatures both dead and alive. Of course they were going to send the man who couldn’t stay dead for long to wrangle with some demons.</p><p>Just another workday for associate guild archaeologist Silvarius Ivanov.</p><p>It somehow still managed to be much more pleasant than his last ‘job’, if one could even call it that. If anything, it was the sort of stone around the place reminding him of how deep under Gielinor they were that made him jumpy. </p><p>Whereas the other archaeologists tentatively stepped on the lingering chaotic portals, his stride was much more measured and reserved. Auras of fire, surrounded by thirteen gazing eyes. On anyone else, the demeanor would have been coldly pedestrian. One portal, then the next. The Vestibule of Futility. The Harrowing. Dagon’s overlook.</p><p>And then, in the source of the Source, Dagon himself, a hulking mass of purple Avernic muscle scantly adorned with rusted brass bands and blades, and one that seemed beset with an all too familiar sort of fatigued boredom. </p><p>“The undead one has returned,” the demon remarked, in a paradoxically reserved booming voice.</p><p>“Yes...the Malebranche were far from the most intimidating fiends I’ve seen,” he remarked, crossing his arms before withdrawing his immaculately kept journal. “My notes are now ready, let’s get this business underway.”</p><p>Symbols, numbers, an ancient lock with steam rising from astral signs. Not any he was familiar with outside of the Source itself, but he could piece in the gaps. Rustling bits of paper, occasional scribbles in ink. Occasionally he’d stride to a switch, press it, and cross his arm and tap his foot as the mechanism spun, let out steam, and did its thing in silence.<br/><br/>“Remarkable bit of work to snare one in a trap, huh…” He muttered. Now there was a certain rhythm to the wight’s work, making marks next to numbers and symbols.</p><p>“A trap more of words than machines of which I do not know how long,” Dagon mused. </p><p>“From my reckoning, several millennia, or around a bit more than twice my own age. Quite a while to be stuck. I resembled that.” Silvarius remarked, dry and distantly. “Just a few more switches, and hopefully the same will be true of you.”</p><p>“I notice the star of Saradomin you wear,” Dagon observed, as Silvarius pressed another switch. “You do not distrust me?”<br/><br/>He looked up, making direct eye contact as best as he could with the height difference.</p><p>“I may not have been around as long as you, but I know enough to discern thoughts of the heart. You do not seem malicious...just tired. And a kind of tired I know all too well. Observing a grim theatre of the suffering of countless souls, of which you were an equally helpless contributor...but regarded as the monster. A kind of tired that just wants to go home.”</p><p>If he could, the demon would have stepped back somewhat. “Very astute observation, undead one.”</p><p>Silvarius paused a moment, one more leaf over his notes for absolute certainty. Right, left, right, The smoke and steam rose, and soon enough, one final CLUNK heralded the structure of the lock coming apart. Dagon was now free, and gave the wight archaeologist a resolute nod.</p><p>“Thank you…” His deep voice trailed off with a mild awkward note.</p><p>“Silvarius.” He replied simply, replacing his journal in his cloak.</p><p>“You have done me a great service this day. You are capable and discerning...while I do not have much to offer you myself, absent as I have been from the world at large…” A red aura gathered around Dagon’s hand, and within it some kind of tablet appeared in it. “I do believe I can let you have others serve you in your endeavors.”</p><p>Silvarius stepped back, instinctively cringing as memories flashed through his mind, and not entirely his own. The background of the crypt that had held him so many centuries. A haggard wearied face behind spectacles...across from him, a much more devious smile, concealed under a purple hood. A laugh, and another flash of crimson-black. He just barely resisted the falling over that had happened when the good Curator, Jeremiah Goodman, had originally shown him the vision from his book.</p><p>“...I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“...Does something in my offer disturb you, Silvarius?” He tilted his head, glancing at the tablet somewhat awkwardly.</p><p>“...I...do not mean to offend if this is something seen as customary to you, but…” He adjusted his trillby and crossed his arms, looking up. “...Well, seeing others bound in such a matter is exactly what I am trying to leave in my past. Not by those like you, but...Well, not too long ago, I was a commander, a puppet of a puppet, overseeing many bound and tormented undead souls against my will.”</p><p>“Mm, I see.” A nod from the demon, as the tablet disappeared into the crimson haze from whence it came. “I understand your hesitation. Such contracts can be spun for ill, as the would-be hierophant that bound me here is a prime example of.”</p><p>Silvarius couldn’t help but imagine some shaded older woman with a demented, toothy smile, adorned in the robes he himself had restored a number of. And of course, as his mind was wont to do, the image flashed to another, more monstrous maw of a rictus, set within a bone white mask.</p><p>“Yes...the webs others spin…” He gazed into the distance absentmindedly before the echo of clanking chains snapped the wight to attention once again. “...It occurs to me there is something you may be in a unique position to help me with.”</p><p>“State your wish, Silvarius.” He carefully extended a hand.</p><p>“I suppose I should explain.” He breathed, cleared his throat, and steeled his brow, continuing to look up at Dagon. </p><p>“As part of that old life...my captor used me as an accessory to a gruesome killing of which I understand to be a demon...lady of some significance...or one of three, rather. His name, that man turned monster, is Gregorovic. The demon sisters that remain, Nymora and Avaryss, hate me on his account, and have been sending their servants after me to exact their vengeance. Yet, my will was not my own, and was not my own until only a couple years ago when I broke free.”</p><p>The sulfurous air stood silent for a moment. Looks being traded, reflections of horrors untold within inhuman and debatably still human eyes. He could still see it in his mind’s eye, the crownlike horns and gleam of gems and wings, and a spindly masked abomination, maw wide, a pair of silhouettes stark against the full moon.</p><p>“I see...So you wish me to put in a word of goodwill for you, if possible?” Dagon reiterated, tapping his temple like adjusting a pair of invisible glasses.</p><p>Silvarius nodded. “If you can. I do not expect anything of it, so to sign to anything seems needlessly cruel. But, if you insist on it.”</p><p>“I cannot say I was ever very familiar with those three on a personal level...But I believe the freedom of my own person will say enough on its own.” With one swipe of a hand, one of the chains that dangled shattered with a flash of crimson, the links scattering around the defunct lock and sizzling as they hit the lava. “Let the chains of others that have bound us both bind us no longer.”<br/><br/>“Indeed...Goodbye, Dagon.” Finally, he watched as the last arcane shreds of the Source’s main portal itself flared up, and took the demon along with it.</p><p>He stood in silence again for a couple more moments, before dusting off his cloak and withdrew his journal. </p><p>“...This will be one very interesting report.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Whew, it's another one! This one was one of those cases of odd resonance within new content that I thought might be good for catching people up on more of Silvy's deal, what he was before he's now digging around in history. It's quite the story, but one that he's largely moved on from, in part because of this. He's got a much different perspective than most World Guardians would have going through this, something I thought might be interesting to explore.</p><p>Thanks to fennfics and @Eriddyn for prereading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whew, I really would have expected to have written something like this sooner, but times and motivation are weird right now. Regardless, here, more Silvyfic, and with a character I don't write too terribly often. I got 120 Archaeology now, and since Silvarius is really the one who's the buff among my OCs, I figure I ought to give him some love. I have a few more drabble ideas in mind, so check back at this space periodically!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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